Too Many Men on the Field
by Invisible Ranger
Summary: Shortly after the events of the film, Face gets the opportunity of a lifetime: to watch his Eagles play in the Super Bowl in L.A. Throw in his hot former girlfriend, Murdock pretending to be his boyfriend, a group of wacked-out terrorists, and a really large, pissed off ex-football player, and hold on tight!
1. Pregame

Too Many Men on the Field

by Invisible Ranger (HBF), 2014

Disclaimer: The A-Team belong to Fox/Universal and the late SJC. I do this for the jazz and not for profit.

Chapter 1: Pregame

The phone kept ringing and ringing. Go figure. That only ever happened when I was in the shower. By the time I'd jumped out, thrown on a towel, and run barefoot and wet down the hall, it had gone to voice mail. Dammit.

I'm one of the few guys in L.A. who still has a landline. Of course, I'm not like most guys. I have my reasons. One of them is the fact that I'm now a federal fugitive with a price on his head. According to Hannibal, this is actually a safer bet than a cell number. The logic on that one confuses me. He said it was something about the opposite of what the CIA, DCIS, and whoever else might expect me to do. That, and it's registered to a phantom corporation. Weird. Anyway, I have five encrypted, untraceable wireless numbers anyway. Hannibal would really be pissed if he knew.

Hey, a guy's got to keep all his love interests separate. For me, that's never been easy.

I stared at the little blinking red light. I gotta admit, I'm a sucker for nostalgia. I still have the same answering machine I had way back before. Before all that impossible shit went down in Mexico and I found myself, well…

Part of a team. The most batshit crazy team there ever was.

It was probably one of them calling me. If it was B.A., he'd want me to hit the gym with him. Or maybe watch the Super Bowl at his new place. Even if my Eagles were a heavy favorite to beat his hometown L.A. Dragons. Hannibal hardly ever called that line. If he did it was something serious. I didn't want to think what it was. Did somebody rat us out? Trace us online? I stared. Tried to think.

There was a third possibility, of course. Murdock might have just gotten bored. Or lonely. The last time he'd called, he'd put on a silly accent and pretended to be some guy named Craven Moorehead. I'd been busy hacking into DoD's mainframe at the time to try and get some news, but it had still cracked me up. Murdock had a way of doing that.

Taking a deep breath, I pressed the button. I wasn't sure what to expect, but what I heard was the last thing in the world I _would_ have expected.

It was a feminine voice, soft and breathy. "_Templeton?_" Nobody called me that anymore. "_I don't know if this is your number, but my publicist tells me it is_."

I flipped through my mental Rolodex. None of the women I'd met recently had this number. Or did they? There was that one night I had a few too many vodka shots, and my memory was a little hazy. I kept listening.

"_It's Cyera. You know, Cyera Flynn? Back from Philly_?"

It was like being blindsided by a Mack truck. Of _course_ I knew her…and so did millions of other people. She'd had a breakout pop single and gone multi-platinum not long ago. I'd only known her a few years in high school. We'd gone out a few times and ended it as friends. I hadn't heard a word from her since then. Other than hearing her album when I was still in Iraq and wondering how I missed out on such an amazing talent. Who was gorgeous, I might add.

"_Look, if this is your number, I need your help..."_

Now I had to be suspicious. There were all kinds of people looking for me and the guys now. Some were professionals, and some just wanted to make a quick buck. Cyera Flynn? This could be just some ambitious captain calling from D.C., trying to flush us out…

"_…because I always thought you were a great guy, and there aren't many of them left. I still have that little unicorn you made me in art class. The purple one with sparkly hooves."_

That was a lot harder to fake than just a name and a sexy voice. I'd never told anyone else about that unicorn. Still, I wasn't sold.

_"Call me when you get this, okay?" _She gave a number. _"Temp, I've really missed you." _ The message ended and I was still staring at my old machine.

Cyera. After all this time. I thought of her; the way her reddish blond hair was always so shiny and smelled like lavender, how she and I always cut up in the back of Mr. Logan's English class, the sense of humor she had to go along with her effortless good looks. I had missed her; I just hadn't realized it.

My first impulse was to pick up the landline and dial the number. I almost did, and then I remembered the secure lines. I also remembered I was dripping wet and only wearing a towel. Cursing under my breath, I went back to my room and reminded myself to clean up the puddle from the hardwood floors later.

I tested the number first on Line #1. It really was for some publicist's office in Hollywood. Usually the military wasn't that clever when it came to making stuff up. I followed my hunch and dialed the number back on Line #2. It rang a few times and a polite but cool female voice answered.

"Destrier Artist Management, how may I help you?"

"Um…yeah. I'm returning Cyera Flynn's call."

I could practically hear the scoff in the woman's voice. "May I tell her who is calling?"

"Tell her it's Face…um, I mean, Temp. She just called me."

There was a click and the sound of canned hold music. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, I heard a familiar voice.

"Temp? Is that you?" Cyera sounded out of breath, like she'd been holding a high note or something. Maybe she had. "How…how are you?"

"Couldn't be better," I lied. Maybe Cyera didn't watch the news, but unless she'd been touring on Mars, she had to have heard about our little incident in the port. "So, um, what's up? I got your message, and you sounded desperate. I've gotta tell you…"

She sighed, cutting me off. "I know. How you're wanted and everything. I heard."

So much for her being some airheaded pop star who didn't watch CNN. I might have forgiven her that. "Why'd you call, then?" I had a feeling it wasn't just to say a quick "hi" after almost twenty years.

"Temp, I have a job for you. I know you need money, and I swear I'm on your side here. I'm not working for the bad guys," she said, and something in her voice made me want to believe her. "I don't know how much you've followed my career, but now that people know me, I have to have a security detail. I don't like it, but it's part of the deal."

"Okay, great. But what's that got to do with me?" I pictured about a half-dozen clones of B.A. surrounding her: pure muscle with dark shades and nonexistent senses of humor. They weren't guys like me.

"You know the Super Bowl is next weekend, right?"

"Yeah. Of course. The Eagles." I wasn't going to miss it for anything: right here in L.A., in the brand-new stadium. I'd been psyched about it since the Eagles had won the championship a week ago. My new HD screen was ready to go. Maybe she was singing the national anthem? Was that why she'd called?

She took a deep breath. "I want to watch the game, at the stadium, like a real person. Not have people recognizing me and asking for my autograph all the time. Do you know how long that's been?"

I guessed. "Probably since high school, right?"

"Yeah. And since I can't have, like, a dozen bodyguards around, I want you."

I almost dropped the receiver. "Look, Cyera, it's nice of you to ask, but there's a couple little problems with that. First of all, I'm not a bodyguard. I mean, I work out and everything, but that's not really my kind of gig. Second…" I hesitated. "Well, I've got my reasons for lying low right now." If somebody from the military was listening, I didn't want to make it obvious.

"Please, Temp. Can you do an old friend this one favor? We'll both go in disguise. It'll be so much fun. Like that time we got the fake IDs and spent all night drinking Southern Comfort and listening to old records at your grandma's house."

Now that had been a night. Talk about a blast from the past. How could I say no to that? And how could I say no to a prime seat at the Super Bowl? To watch the _Eagles_? I might never get another shot at that. Temptation overcame that cautious little Hannibal voice in my head. "Sure, okay. I'll do it," I said.

_Besides, Hannibal would never have to know. I'd be in _disguise. How ironic.

"You'll have to pick up the tickets at a secure location. Is there a Mailboxes Unlimited or anything around your place?"

There was, the one where I had my own P.O. box, but I gave her the address for another one a couple blocks over instead.

"I'll have them sent by courier in an hour. I'll use one of those fake names you always used to come up with; how about 'Willie Large?'" She laughed. "Oh, and Temp, I meant to tell you. There's an extra ticket, so you can bring a friend if you like. Look, I gotta go, but we'll talk again before the game. Work out where to meet and everything. I'm looking so forward to this," Cyera said.

"Yeah. See you." The line went dead.

This day had just gone from crap to excellent in the span of a few minutes. I was going to the Super Bowl. With a hot girl who happened to be famous. Where nobody would even suspect I was a wanted man. It almost made me forget about the pancake-sized puddle on my hardwood floor.

It was all I could do not to sing the Eagles' fight song at the top of my lungs as I made my way back to the master suite.

~~s~~

Mailboxes Unlimited was a lot like Walmart. All of them looked pretty much the same: industrial and boring. Even the middle-aged guy behind the desk looked bored. I had to clear my throat to get his attention.

"I have a parcel to pick up. Name's Large," I said cheerily.

The guy apparently didn't get the joke, because he just grunted and asked me to sign a piece of paper. Didn't even ask for ID. Which was fine, because I had several IDs, but not one in the name of Willie Large. The envelope bore the name of Cyera's agency and looked boringly corporate. But I knew better.

Last time I'd been this excited had been when I managed to scam the Ducati back in Iraq. Once outside, I tore open the package and removed its contents. Three tickets, stamped with the holographic Super Bowl logo. If I was reading the numbers right, they were right at the 50. I realized I shouldn't be waving them around in public, but everyone on the sidewalk around me just hurried past, talking and texting and hurrying to wherever it was they were going. Typical L.A.

I'd left the car parked a block over. It never hurt to be at least sort of careful. Like everything else I now owned, it was registered to someone who didn't exist.

I was so busy studying the tickets that I bumped straight into someone.

"Hey there! Long time, no see, Faceman."

I knew that voice…and the friendly face that went with it. It had been at least a month. "Hey, buddy. I thought you were still at that one hospital?"

Murdock grinned and gave me one of his patented bear hugs. "I kinda got bored there. Nurses got no sense of humor, the food's awful, and they don't even have HBO. How am I gonna catch up on _Sex and the City?_" he drawled, finally letting me go. "Whatcha been up to?"

"You know. The usual stuff." Truth was, I'd been working. Trying to find a way to get us out of our predicament. Well, I'd also been scamming my own penthouse and car and girlfriends, too. But that was work. And Murdock was nothing but a distraction. I'd secretly been avoiding him. And he'd come out a lot worse than I had from our little adventure with Lynch. Talking to his invisible friends, seeing things that weren't there. Hannibal and I had agreed he needed to chill out for a while. So we'd set him up, under a false name, in the best psych hospital money could buy. The one in Malibu. The kind of place movie stars sent their kids, and themselves. As of this morning I'd assumed he was still there. My mistake.

Murdock couldn't be contained. Not unless he wanted to be.

"Check it out, Face. New _Avengers_ came out today," said Murdock, pulling out a comic book from a paper bag that said _Crazy Tommy's Comics and Cards_. It was just a few doors down from the mailbox store. "You wanna read it first?"

I politely shook my head. To a casual observer, Murdock didn't look like a guy who'd been diagnosed clinically insane. He looked like a hundred other SoCal beach guys: colorful Hawaiian shirt worn loose over a black tee, cargo pants, flip-flops. A wild head of spiky sandy hair which I'd always thought looked like one of those Japanese _manga_ characters. Broad grin. I wasn't just a casual observer. I was his best friend. We'd been through way too much together. Somehow, in the time I'd spent trying to be a regular guy again, I'd forgotten that. During all the A-list parties I'd gone to, pretending to be someone else, I'd forgotten Murdock, who was the kind of friend who accepted you for who you really were.

_What a prick I've been. How many times did he save my life? And I've been treating him like a leper ever since we got back. _

There was only one way I was going to make it up to him, and it wasn't reading _The Avengers _or even taking him to Knott's Berry Farm. "Hey, Murdock, how'd you like to come to the Super Bowl this Sunday? With me?" I threw out the question before I'd had time to reconsider.

"Do dogs like to hump fire hydrants? Hell, yeah, I would!"

I wanted to tell him no, that they _peed_ on fire hydrants, but decided not to. If he'd been grinning before, now he was deliriously happy. For a guy who'd gotten shot in the head a few months ago, Murdock was doing just fine. Maybe he didn't need to be in the hospital.

"Look, Murdock, a couple things. I'll explain on the way back to my place," I said.

"Sure. Whoo-hoo, I'm going to the Super Bowl! And then, if I have time, to Disneyland!" he shouted, startling a couple of women walking by.

"Let's not get carried away. C'mon, we'll head to my car, okay? I'll drive you to my place."

When we were safely back in the Mercedes, I thought it was safe enough to talk. Murdock was already fiddling with the stereo. He always did that. "You can come with me under two conditions. You listening?"

"Uh-huh." He'd tuned to the local 80s throwback station. His favorite.

"We have to go in disguise. That means nobody, and I mean nobody, knows who we are."

"Okay." His idea of a disguise was usually something outrageous, like a Swahili-speaking rabbi or a Cuban drag queen.

The second part was a little trickier. "Um, we'll be going with someone else. A friend of mine from high school."

"Does he like football?"

"Yeah. And it's a she."

Murdock looked up at me with those big eyes of his. Was he mad at me? Disappointed?

"As long as she likes chili dogs and Miller Lite, Face, and she's a friend of yours… it's all good with me." He leaned back in the seat and started singing and dancing along to "Tainted Love."

I pulled away from the curb. It was a good thing Murdock wasn't having a crazy day.

_To Be Continued_


	2. Kickoff

Chapter 2: Kickoff

Sunday turned out to be absolutely perfect for football. Clear, mild, a slight breeze. In other words, typical L.A. in February. Having spent most of my life either in Philly or being chased halfway across the world in places without indoor plumbing, I wasn't complaining.

I'd spent an hour deciding what to wear. My Eagles jersey and hat, much as I hated to admit it, were out. I was supposed to look professional…after all, the only way I was going to be able to smuggle my Beretta and clips in was pretending to be an undercover agent. Those guys didn't bother with cheesy fan stuff. I'd finally settled on a sports jacket just loose enough to conceal my holster, a blue chambray shirt, and my best designer jeans. It was the kind of outfit that said "professional but cool." I'd also be wearing shades. Maybe too obvious, but I was supposed to be in disguise.

If Hannibal had been here, he'd have said I looked like some Black Forest reject. But he wasn't, so I didn't care. There was only so much I could do to disguise myself without being silly about it.

"Murdock? You about ready?" I banged on the bathroom door. He'd spent the night at my place; I figured it was easier than picking him up from wherever he was crashing at the moment. He had also been in there for a long time. I hoped he wasn't taking one of his Zen meditation baths where he got out the rubber duck.

The door opened a crack. "Hey, Face. Just a sec. I gotta do one more thing."

"All right, buddy. Just hurry up. You know what traffic's gonna be like."

I kept looking at my watch. On any given day, including Sunday, L.A. was a non-stop rush hour hell. Today was bound to be worse, and then we had to deal with security. I already had a plan. But my plans never took into account the wild card that was Murdock.

When he finally came out, I was at a loss for words. I'd told him he could have his pick of my clothes, even though he had a few of his own here. We were about the same size, and I didn't want him wearing his surfer-boy casual outfit on national TV. But I hardly recognized him. He almost looked presentable: one of my cashmere blazers with a turtleneck under it, pressed chinos, a pair of my Italian shoes. He'd slicked his unruly hair straight back with gel and actually shaved for a change. And in his left ear…

"Whoa. Is that an earring?" I said.

"Yeah." Murdock twirled and moved from side to side with the exaggerated movements of a model. "You like it?"

"Um, well, it's a different look for you."

I knew where the earring had come from. That crazy phase I went through. The one where I'd actually gotten _my _ear pierced when I got drunk. Murdock must have found it in the drawer in the bathroom. Then I had a strange thought.

"I didn't know you had pierced ears, buddy," I said, still unable to take my eyes off him.

"Guess you don't know everything about me," he responded, fluttering his lashes.

I'd spent eight years getting to know his weird self, and if there was one absolute truth about Murdock, it was that he always had new ways of surprising me. Up until recently I had no idea that he played the violin, spoke fluent Russian, or knew how to ride a mechanical bull. With him it was always an adventure. I wondered if bringing him to the game with me was a mistake. Then again, he'd helped keep me alive for those eight years despite his antics.

_If I couldn't trust him, then who could I trust?_ Even so, I felt like I had to set some boundaries.

"Look, Murdock, this girl, Cyera, she means a lot to me. Try to play it cool, okay? No talking puppets or anything like that." I hoped I didn't sound patronizing, but Murdock just shrugged.

"I gotcha, Faceman. Just two regular guys going to the game, right?"

"Right." I looked at my watch again. "Now, let's go watch the Super Bowl."

~~s~~

My guess had been right: traffic was murder getting to the stadium. By the time we finally arrived, the sun was low in the sky and the lights were on. People were coming in from every direction.

There was no denying it: the California Coliseum was a huge place. It had been built to bring a team back to L.A. and host the big game. I'd heard that the financiers wanted to make the new Cowboys stadium look like a high-school field in comparison. They hadn't disappointed. Over a hundred thousand people and hundreds of media outlets were expected to be there tonight.

I parked the car as far away as I dared. I didn't want to be too obvious and neither did I want my car to get stolen, so that meant walking. As Murdock and I made our way toward the stadium, it was everything I could do not to show emotion. Most of the fans and tailgaters wore the Dragons' black, red and gold, but there was a healthy Eagles contingent too. Every time I passed a car or truck decorated in green and silver, my heart raced.

_Just stay calm_, I told myself. _You've been in tighter spots than this before_. Of course, none of those spots were on TV broadcast to half the world. The bossman would have had my ass for this. Then again, what were the odds of me, out of those thousands of fans, being seen? It was going to be okay as long as we stuck to the plan. That was the one thing he'd drilled into me over the years.

"Hey, Face, when are we gonna meet this girl of yours?" Murdock asked.

"Inside. Past the security check." We'd agreed to meet at the southeast concourse next to the program vendor's stall. Cyera had called me earlier and we both figured it was best to get in and then find each other.

"What am I supposed to call her? I can't call her 'Cyera,' right?" said Murdock.

"Right. Just call her by whatever name she gives us," I said, lowering my voice as we approached the checkpoint. "And call me 'Phil.' That's what it says on my fake badge."

"Okay, _Phil_." Murdock winked at me, and I thought I saw the beginnings of mischief in his eyes.

The checkpoint wasn't as bad as I'd hoped. These people weren't professionals; they were mostly rent-a-cops making fifteen bucks an hour and processing thousands of people. There were some real cops around, but I knew they wouldn't bother anybody minding their business. Murdock got waved through automatically; he didn't even get wanded. When it was my turn, I simply flashed my badge and my smile to the plump lady in uniform.

"Detective Phil Vandiver. Special Task Force," I said, all business.

"Yes, Detective." She paused a moment, then looked closer at the picture on my badge, then at me. "Just one thing."

I froze. _Surely she didn't recognize me_. "What is it?" I said impatiently.

The lady blushed. "You look just like that actor, Cooper Bradley. You know, the one who just played in the movie with Jennifer Aniston? What was it called?"

I took my badge back, immensely relieved. "Sorry, ma'am, I don't get to many movies. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Inside, Murdock was milling around in the concourse. In the time it had taken me to avoid the lovesick security guard, he'd bought a cone of blue cotton candy and was chowing down. I wasn't sure what worried me more: him getting sick like he always did, or the prospect of vomit all over my cashmere.

"Put that away. We get food and beer delivered to our seats, remember? Save your appetite," I said.

Murdock pouted, but left the sticky mess inside the next trash can we passed. "What's this girl look like, Face? She's in disguise, too, so how'll we find her?" he said, licking sugar from his fingers.

That hadn't occurred to me. I hadn't asked what she'd be wearing, but it hardly mattered. I'd know her anywhere. "Come on. We'll head over to the meeting spot," I suggested.

"Hey, stranger," a familiar voice said from behind me.

When I turned around, I was just as surprised as when I'd seen Murdock's getup. Cyera had always been a trendy, chic kind of girl. This girl was dowdy, with a thrift store plaid shirt and jeans that might have been some hipster's throwaways. Her hair was a dull black bob, and she wore thick-rimmed glasses along with fake braces. A pair of battered Doc Martens completed the look.

"Hey yourself," I said, hugging Cyera to me. "I hope that hair isn't real."

"No way, Jose. Just the power of a good stylist," Cyera said, hugging me back and planting a kiss on my cheek. "You can call me Gladys for tonight."

I got the joke right away. "That was your grandma's name. The one with the well-stocked liquor cabinet, right?"

"The very same." She noticed Murdock, who'd been patiently standing behind me. "This must be the guy you were telling me about. Your friend?"

"Oh, we're more than just friends," cooed Murdock, and before I could say a word, he pulled me to him and kissed me full on the lips.

Murdock and I had done a lot of crazy shit together over the years. We'd done some things that weren't even legal in half the civilized world. This, however, was definitely a first. When he finally let me go, I was gasping for breath.

Cyera stared at us for a moment, then grinned. "Oh, Temp, that's so sweet that you finally found someone! I mean, we had our fun times together, but," she winked, "I always kinda knew. You know?"

"You…you did?" I was horrified. I looked from Cyera back to Murdock. Both of them wore the same coy smile.

"C'mon, Temp. You were wearing designer clothes even back then, and you were the only guy I knew who ever got monthly mani-pedis."

I was about to explain how that was just good hygiene, but something told me it was a lost cause. Besides, Murdock looked happier than I'd seen him since that night at the port. If it was going to make him happy, not to mention Cyera, for the night, I figured I'd just go with it. I could always explain later, that it was some old frat brother playing a joke on me. I still had a shot at going out with the most beautiful pop singer on the West Coast, if I played my cards right.

_Didn't every girl feel comfortable around gay guys?_

"Yeah," I said, laying it on thick, "Murdock and I are reeeal close. Aren't we?"

"Ooh, yeah. He's my little snuggie-wuggie," Murdock agreed.

"You guys are just too adorable. I wish more couples could be as open as you," Cyera said, clasping her hands together. "We'd better get to our seats. We don't want to miss the pregame; I hear the flyover's gonna be awesome this year…"

I walked a step behind Cyera, just out of her earshot. Murdock was right beside me, grinning lopsidedly. He was about to say something when I held up my hands.

"Murdock?" I noticed his lips were still blue from the damn cotton candy.

"Yeah, Face?"

"Remind me to kick your ass when this is all over."

~~s~~

"I still don't see why we can't be 'People United.' It's, like, so harmonious."

"Because, you idiot, then we'd be called 'P.U.' on the news. What kind of social justice activists call themselves 'P.U.?'"

Somewhere deep within the bowels of the stadium, a dozen people were crammed inside a cold storage locker. They were all college-age save for one, a rangy man somewhere in his forties. Each of them had the glazed, slightly vacant expressions of those who'd spent a lifetime getting stoned. But they were all intently listening to the older man, Vick, who was pointing to a handheld tablet with elaborate diagrams drawn upon it.

"If we're done talking about our group name," he shot a glare at the young woman who'd spoken, "let's discuss this plan, shall we? Is everybody clear on their objectives tonight?"

A stringy-haired blond raised a hand. "Like, we're gonna show the capitalist scum what we're all about, right?"

"And bring awareness to the plight of the salamanders while we're at it," his sister added.

Vick scowled. He'd spent the last year on college campuses looking for young people who were committed to the cause. And he'd wound up with a bunch of morons…they were committed, all right…but still morons. "We're going to strike at the soft underbelly of this evil, unfair society. Make them reconsider how they treat the working class. Maybe even get international involvement."

Another kid raised a hand. "So, who gets to fly the blimp?"

"What?"

"The Goodyear blimp, man. Isn't it, like, going to blow up the place?"

"That was a movie, dumbass. _Pink Sunday_ or something like that," the P.U. girl said. "This is different. Right, Vick?"

Vick wanted to punch something, though he considered himself a nonviolent man. "It doesn't matter, so shut up and listen. You all have your uniforms? Everybody know what they're doing?" Eleven heads nodded in response.

"Right. You know what to do. First stage at the end of the first quarter…"

~~s~~

I'd been wrong about the tickets. They weren't good seats. They were the best seats in the Coliseum's premium seating area was sweet: big leather seats, tons of leg room, a private steward for our section. Even better than a box, because we were just yards away from the field. I was almost excited enough to forgive Murdock as I made my way over to my seat, 16-C.

"Hey, look, it's Douglas! And Graham, and Herrera!" I couldn't help but point to my favorite players, who were warming up on the field. It was like being a little kid again and going to the old Vet…only a hundred times better.

"I know, right? Isn't this cool?" Cyera sat next to me. "Being famous does have some perks." Nobody had given her a second look so far, much less recognized her. So far the plan was working, other than Murdock, of course, who sat on my other side and held tight to my arm. On the way to the seats he'd bought a foam finger, some Eagles beads, and a vuvuzela. He looked less like a playboy than a drunk Mardi Gras reveler.

"Face, this is just too cool," he said, plopping down into his seat.

"I told you, call me 'Phil,' remember?" I muttered. "Hey, check out the che…" I was about to say 'cheerleaders,' then realized how stupid that would sound coming from a gay guy. "the chest on that guy, huh?"

Murdock was too busy taking in the sights, and sounds, to hear me. He loved a good crowd. The noise was starting to build to a crescendo as the players trotted off the field towards the sidelines.

The national anthem singer was making her way to the stage at midfield. She was some country star I didn't follow, but knew by name. She wasn't in Cyera's league, but had a decent voice.

"You're in my seat."

"Sorry, man, this is 16-C."

"I said, you're in my seat."

I turned to look at the biggest human being I'd ever seen. He had to be nearly seven feet tall and half again as wide. He didn't look happy, either.

"I got my ticket right here. And it's for this seat."

The singer was on stage now, and the PA announcer was telling everyone to please rise and remove their caps.

I suddenly realized who the huge guy was. He'd spent years playing defensive line for the Giants and destroying the Eagles quarterbacks. "I know you. You're Teensy McRae, right? Number 91?"

"Nobody calls me that anymore. 'Specially not some guy I don't know." Yep, it was him all right…I remembered that rough, growly voice from his postgame interviews. "Now get the hell outta my seat, man."

"Okay. You got it. My mistake."

I took the lead, pulling a confused Cyera and Murdock with me. The last thing I wanted to do was get in a fight with a guy who might snap my spine like a toothpick. He'd ended the careers of more than a few great players. I didn't want to be his next casualty. As we hurried to the row behind with its three empty seats, I heard Teensy pull out his phone and start talking when the anthem was finally over.

"Yeah. I made it. You're never going to guess who I ran into. Cooper Bradley. Yeah, the actor. The guy's a real asshole."

By the time the ball had been teed up for kickoff, I officially wanted to disappear. But I wasn't about to let a 350-pound man, or my suddenly gay best friend, ruin my night.

"C'mon, Eagles!" I shouted as the kicker's foot met the ball.

_To Be Continued_


	3. Interference

Chapter 3

Turns out there's only a few differences between watching the Super Bowl from the comfort of your own home and actually being there. "_Another _ timeout? C'mon, man!" Just when the game was starting to get good. The Eagles, after an opening defensive stand, had taken it deep into the Dragons' red zone and were ready to score. They were stopping things every couple minutes, leaving us time to talk. Felt more like a damn matinee baseball game.

"It's all the extra commercials. Remember?" Cyera whispered into my ear. "Those multi-gazillions of dollars hard at work. You know, they even wanted me to do one of those this year, for some candy company? I said no and meant it."

I couldn't help but grin. From slumming it with me in Philly, to getting paid millions just to endorse products. The girl had made it. It was the sort of bullshit thing I'd always wanted for myself. In fact, I was kind of jealous. All because of one little misunderstanding, I'd always have to bring home my bacon strictly under the table. I'd never be able to show my face above ground again, or would I?

_Give it time, Lieutenant. Time cures all ills,_ I heard Hannibal saying in my head.

"Lookie there, sweet cheeks. Have you ever seen a more perfect ass in your life? Course, it's not nearly as nice as yours." Murdock, wolf-whistling, threw a large rock through the glass house of my thoughts. I couldn't tell whether he was pointing to the line judge, the usher standing a few rows in front of us, or the hulking backup Eagles linebacker. Whenever he adopted a persona, he always ran with it. I'd given him free rein…but he was starting to embarrass me.

"All right, buddy. Just calm down. We don't wanna get too much attention. We're undercover, remember?" I said from the corner of my mouth, but Cyera heard me anyway. She smiled and punched me playfully on my upper arm.

"Phil, seriously…there is nothing to be ashamed of. I'm so happy for you both. How long have you guys been together, anyway?"

Murdock glanced back at me with a playful smile. "Oh, 'Phil' and I know each other real well. Like, going back to our Army days. Let me tell you, I'm a sucker for a man in uniform," he said with a wink.

"You guys knew each other in the Army? Was this before the don't-ask-don't-tell thing?"

"Yeah." I scowled. "Damn near broke my heart when we were sent to separate facilities after the court-martial. I went all 'Brokeback Murdock.'" If he was going to hit below the belt, then so was I.

"'Cause they got lots of creature comforts now in max security, but 'Snoogy-Woogy Wips' here ain't one of 'em," Murdock said with a theatrical sigh. "I'm so glad that's over and we're together again."

We were both exchanging mock-poisonous stares on either side of Cyera, to her amusement, when the crowd exploded into a cheer. Laird had connected with Udall on a short touchdown pass and everybody had seen it happen but us. The replay screen showed it again. 6-0, Eagles. A moment later, the extra point was good and, of course, time-out was called.

"So, are you guys like, planning on making it official?" Cyera asked when I'd finally stopped cheering and given both of them multiple high-fives.

I nearly choked on my swallow of fifteen-dollar beer. "What?"

"A wedding. Are you gonna tie the knot?"

Murdock purred in my ear, cuddling himself closer to me and running a flirtatious finger up and down my jacket sleeve. I'd have once cut off my left nut for Cyera to do that. "Oh, yeah. Soon as we can save up the money for a proper wedding and all. I hear Vermont is so pretty in the fall, and we'll have a honeymoon too! Won't that be fun, schnoodle-bum?"

Where the hell did he come up with these things? Probably all the bad TV he'd been watching in the closed ward. There probably wasn't much else for him to do. I felt even more like a dick for leaving him all alone, and it must have showed, because Cyera laughed.

"Oh my God, you're actually _blushing_! I never thought I'd see you blush. You must really be in love, Phil," she said in between giggles.

"I, uh…" I looked at Cyera, and she started a fresh round of laughter. Then I turned, and my eyes met with Murdock's green ones. He was immensely enjoying himself, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the game. _Was this his way of getting revenge on me?_ I guess it was more subtle than TP'ing my apartment or programming clown porn into my phone, but he could be a real son of a bitch when he wanted to. The worst part was, he had a legitimate reason for feeling this way. "I have to go to the men's room," I said finally, standing up.

"Okay. But hurry, or you'll miss the kickoff." Cyera said, giving me a peck on the cheek.

"Mind if I come too, Studly Do-Right?" Murdock put down his ridiculous foam finger and sprang up from his seat. "Someone's gotta look after that national treasure that is your body, muchacho."

I gritted my teeth. "Fine, but let's go now before the quarter's over. There'll be a huge line otherwise." We trotted up the stairs together to the sound of cheering fans and Cyera's laughter.

~~s~~

The john, like everything at this stadium, was top of the line. It didn't even smell like piss and urinal cakes the way they usually did. There were even screens everywhere so we wouldn't miss a moment of the action. I hadn't really had to go, but it seemed as good a way as any to get Murdock alone to talk to him. Maybe get him to tone it down a little. The longer this went on, the less chance I had of ever convincing Cyera that it hadn't all just been a joke.

"What's up with you tonight?" I hissed at him once the last guy had left. "I mean, I haven't seen this girl for years, and you're making her think I'm gayer than Elton John? What gives?"

Murdock shrugged. Everything was always a game to him; catching him in a serious mood was harder than herding cats. "She seems to like you better this way. Besides, I kinda like you better this way. You're more sensitive," he said with a huff.

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

Before he could answer, the door swung open and another guy walked in. I couldn't quite say why, but he made my senses ping with alarm. I'd seen enough of his type in the Sandbox all those years; they were the ones who liked to play with IEDs and make life hell for us Rangers. This one was just a rat-faced kid, probably a college student, dressed in the ugly yellow food services uniform the vendors wore. He had the reddened eyes of a chronic stoner. As he passed us, he didn't even blink, just went into one of the stalls and slammed the door.

"Well? Murdock, do you need to get something out? Because this is not the time or place to do it, buddy. This is the Super Bowl. We can talk when we get home, all right?"

"I just thought of something. We're in the bathroom, Faceman. This is the _perfect _place to get something out." He erupted into spasms of high-pitched giggles, and it took me way back. The first time I'd heard that particular cackle, in Mexico all those years ago, he'd just set my sleeve on fire.

"Murdock, seriously…"

On screen, the Eagles had just kicked off and pinned the Dragons deep. Cyera must be wondering where the hell we were.

"You wanna head back?" He was still heaving with his fit of hilarity. "Hey, I just said 'head.' C'mon, Face, it's funny!"

"Hilarious. No, really, we gotta talk. Some of it's my fault, and…" I hadn't heard the door opening and closing. I did hear the deep, gruff voice behind me as I stood before the row of urinals.

"Excuse me."

My attention turned from Murdock to the looming, solid figure of Teensy McRae. For such a big man, he moved as quietly as a cat. "Can I help you?" I asked, aware of how dumb I sounded.

"You're in my way."

"There's a bunch of other urinals, man. Use those. I'm in the middle of something here."

"I said," his voice was dangerously low, "you're in my way."

"Oh. Right. All yours." I put my arm around Murdock and herded him away. Usually I could talk my way out of trouble. That bullshit wasn't going to fly with a behemoth who used to sack quarterbacks for a living. We'd have to continue our conversation somewhere else.

"When you gotta go, you gotta go," Murdock muttered when we were out of earshot and back out on the concourse. "Nice guy, huh?"

I wasn't thinking of Teensy. Instead, I was still thinking of the scrawny little guy who'd gone into the stall. Had he come back out? I was always observant; I would have remembered that nightmare banana suit. Either the stadium food hadn't agreed with him or, more likely, he was finding a quiet place to break out a spliff. Damn stoner kids. Even at the Super Bowl, they were everywhere.

Thankfully we hadn't missed much of the game. The Dragons had punted, leaving the Eagles on their own thirty. I was about to suggest to Murdock that we get our asses back down to our seats before Cyera called an APB on us, when a couple of near-identical blondes blocked our path. Any other time, I might have been interested. They had bodies that could melt butter. Right now I was just annoyed.

"Ladies, we have to go. Sorry."

Blondie Number One was blushing furiously and looking down. Her friend looked me right in the eye. "Excuse me. Aren't you that actor? Cooper Bradley? Can we have your autograph?"

I mentally added that guy's name to my shit list. Then I remembered how many celebrities attended the Super Bowl. I'd never heard of the guy before tonight, but I'd have to look him up on IMDB. Maybe he actually was famous; I didn't really pay so much attention anymore. I had already spotted a couple of A-list actors and a retired basketball star in our section alone…not to mention Cyera in disguise…but I wasn't some rube. These girls, on the other hand…

"No. Sorry. I get that all the time."

Before I could stop her, the blushing girl pulled out a camera phone from her purse and snapped my picture. "This is so going on my Facebook page. My friends won't believe it."

Even Murdock looked stunned. One of the things Hannibal had drilled into us was to never let ourselves be photographed, especially now that we were on the run again. One slip-up and we'd be everywhere on social media. I was done being pleasant. I had to be the bad cop here. With a deft move, I pulled out my fake badge and flashed it. "Phil Vandiver, Special Agent. Photographing a law enforcement officer is illegal." I had no idea if it was, but it sounded official. I held my free hand out. "I'll need to confiscate that."

The girl reluctantly handed over her phone, which was the same late model as my own, and I slipped it inside my jacket. "Can we at least have your number? We both think you're really hot, and we have this beach house down at Newport…"

Unexpectedly, it was Murdock who saved me. He gave me the second deep kiss I'd had in an hour, and I just had to play along. The girls were wide-eyed with disappoinment. "Oh, no, girls. This sexy beast belongs to me. Sorry to disappoint," he cooed.

"Okay. Yeah, well, like, we'll be going now." As they both walked off, I could hear then talking about how much the cute ones were _always _gay. If only they knew.

"Thanks, buddy," I said quickly. "I mean for the saving part, not the kissing part. No offense."

"Hey, no problem. You taste kinda sweet, though."

"Are you sure that isn't just all that cotton candy you ate?"

Murdock didn't have the chance to give me some witty response, because I'd spotted something from the corner of my eye and frozen in place. Banana Boy was out of the men's room, and he was standing with another guy in the same uniform next to a trash can just down the concourse. They were talking in low voices. What was it about these guys that bothered me so much? It wasn't that they both should have been serving up beer and hot dogs. These guys were up to something, and the rent-a-cops either didn't notice or didn't care. My instincts were jumping like grease on a griddle.

"You see those guys?" I asked Murdock, not taking my eyes off the marks.

"Y'mean the two Lemonheads over there? Yep, I see 'em. What's up, Face?"

I didn't know what to tell him. I was here for one reason only. To protect a girl I cared about and help her enjoy herself. _Well, and to spend some time with my best friend._ I wasn't on duty, not even close. I had exactly one gun with two extra clips. Forty-five rounds. Not nearly enough to go all gung-ho and take out some bad guys. I wasn't even wearing a vest. I was supposed to be low-key, boring, fade into the background. I'd already been picked out by several people, and I could be easily described. Hannibal, if he ever found out, was going to have my balls for this one. What had I been thinking?

"Face?" Murdock sounded a little worried. "You okay?"

Another guy in yellow had joined the Banana Boy and his friend. Two was company and three was a crowd. Something was definitely up.

"Yeah." A plan was furiously cobbling itself together in my head, and it didn't involve rent-a-cops or even the real cops. First, I'd have to find out what these guys were up to. And for that I'd need Murdock as my wingman. "Follow those guys and make sure they don't go anywhere. I'll catch up with you."

"I'm on it. What about you?"

"I gotta go find Cyera. Make sure she's okay." The Banana Trio had picked up their pace and were leaving. "Go on. I'll find you. Be careful."

With a quick bit of sleight of hand that might have outdone David Copperfield, Murdock moved aside his jacket to reveal a flash of a shoulder holster underneath. If I wasn't mistaken, that was my _other _Beretta inside it. "I always am, Face," he said with a grin.

~~s~~

"There you are! You just missed the most exciting play. The Eagles just intercepted," Cyera shouted over the crowd noise. "You were gone a long time. Everything all right?"

I nodded. I was sort of pissed that I hadn't seen the play; Harvey was my favorite defensive player and he'd just made a beauty of a catch. That was going to have to wait. "I'm fine, but Murdock isn't. He, um, ate something that didn't agree with him. He's gone up to the medic station," I explained.

Cyera waited for the roar to die down. When she spoke again, it was so low only I could hear it. "Temp, you may think otherwise, but you never could lie to me."

I'd been lying for years and years. It was how I'd made my living. She was right. I always found it hardest to lie to people I really cared about.

"Okay, so it wasn't bad cotton candy. I think there's some trouble. We're just going to check it out," I said, keeping my voice at barely a whisper. "It has nothing to do with you, so no worries there. Might just be me being paranoid. Give me ten minutes, all right? I promise I'll be back."

She stared at me stubbornly. "Hey, maybe I can help?"

I shook my head. "No way. Just let us handle this. I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Temp," she begged, "c'mon. Please? It'll be exciting."

I wanted to tell her that "exciting" to me meant something else entirely than it probably did to her. While she'd been behind a microphone, I'd been in prison, getting shot at, and falling from high altitudes in things that had never been meant to fly. "Exciting" to someone like Cyera meant playing Call of Duty. I'd lived the real thing. I'd had all the "exciting" I could ever want, and then some. It was what Hannibal sometimes playfully called "the jazz."

"And what if I say no?"

"Then everyone," she swept her arm around the stadium, "might just know you're a member of the infamous A-Team. Please? I can help."

_Oh, shit. She just had to go there. First Murdock's Liberace act and now this? This is supposed to be the Super Bowl! I'm supposed to be having _fun!

I had no choice.

"Fine, but follow me and stay close." I kissed her on the cheek. "And try not to get shot, okay?"

_To Be Continued._


End file.
